Aftermath
by junoro
Summary: Byleth and Claude have been facing the consequences of the archbishop's secrets for months and years. When they finally learn the truth, on the eve of the final battle, Byleth doesn't take it well. Claude/Byleth, in which Byleth has come to some unfortunate conclusions about herself. Edit: Fixed formatting issues.


He found her in her room. No wonder, considering it was the one place she could escape from Rhea. So white her face had looked when the archbishop had at last explained what she'd done. On the battlefield, when Rhea had almost sacrificed herself to protect Byleth, Byleth's face had been white, too. White from fear.

But when Rhea had finally laid bare her tragic history, Byleth hadn't looked any more relieved. In those burning green eyes, there was anger. Claude fully believed that Byleth wouldn't have cared if Rhea had chosen that moment to drop dead.

Well, maybe that was a little exaggeration.

""Hey, Teach?" he asked, rapping lightly on the partially open door. Byleth spun around from her window, very obviously not aware that she hadn't fully locked up her room. In the light of the moon, her pale green hair looked limp and haggard around her shoulders. "Can I come in?"

A pause. Then a hoarse, "I thought you might come." She walked stiffly to the door as he entered, and shut it behind him.

The scent of pine needles drifted through the air, and Claude casually walked to the teapot that was warming through fire magic on Byleth's countertop. An open package of Almyran tea sat beside it, ready for the taking. She really _had_ anticipated his arrival. He looked over his shoulder to see that she'd sat at her little table, arms folded into her grey professor's sleeves. Her eyes flicked to the tea, then his face, and she nodded.

"So," he said, casting about for a way to lighten the mood. He poured a cup of tea, and with his back to her, rummaged through the other blends in her collection. "Turns out the goddess really does exist. Kind of puts our previous conversations in a different light, huh?" He turned and placed a cup of her favourite blend on the table before her with a wink.

Byleth sucked in a breath. "You could say that," she said, voice wavering. Feeling ludicrously out of his depth, Claude sat and moved his chair to sit beside her. Byleth frowned. "The tea was for you," she protested.

"I'll have some later," he said. Byleth frowned and fiddled with the teacup handle, gaze dark as she stared into the steaming liquid. How on earth to get her to open up and let out all the tension she carried in her stony expression? He could scheme with the best of them, but it was far easier to annoy the information out of someone than to draw it out in trust.

She opened her mouth, then caught herself and fell back into silence, gaze darkening even further. Claude moved closer, and she didn't react.

"Byleth." Her eyes snapped to him. "Do you want to stay for this final battle?"

Something shifted in her countenance, and with a ragged sigh, Byleth shoved the teacup away from her on the table. "No," she said. _"No._ I want to go, maybe out past Fodlan's Throat. Maybe somewhere nobody's even heard of the name of the goddess. Somewhere where she doesn't exist." She winced, as though remembering some harsh truth. "Did you know Rhea mentioned her name to me before, but when I said I hadn't heard of it, she frowned at me? It always struck me as odd, but _now_…"

"She's been hiding a great deal."

"She used me." Byleth stared at her clenched fists, watching them shake. "You read my father's journal. And I thank you for never asking this, but – Claude. Give me your hand."

The moonlight cast an eerie pall on her face, and Claude hesitantly offered his hand. Byleth took it, and carefully laid it against her upper chest, just left of her sternum. _What does she hope to gain from this?_ Claude mused, mind racing. What had her father's journal –?

_Oh._

She stared at him silently, clearly waiting for a response. Claude gently tugged at his hand, but she held it in place. "So… it's true," he said at last.

Something wet – _tears?_ – dripped onto his glove, and Byleth took a shuddering breath. "What am I? Did she truly need to let my mother die to achieve this? Or was it easier to ruin an infant who hadn't had the chance to live?" Her fingers dug into Claude's hand, but his other hand was free. Claude raised a thumb to her cheek, wiping at the tracks that dripped down to her chin.

""Hey," he soothed, "whatever you are, you're my friend. We don't yet know how exactly Rhea did all this stuff, but we can find out. There has to be a way to make things right." She looked at him, and a sliver of hope flickered across her face. "The same way we'll help the others."

Byleth's deathgrip on his hand relaxed, and Claude slowly drew it away. With his other, he finished brushing away the tears on her face. She wiped her face with her sleeve, then took her teacup. "You'll need me to finish this war," she said softly.

Claude grimaced. "I was just about to say that," he admitted. "And… I wanted to apologize for that fact. But afterwards? With this threat gone, you can travel as far as you want."

A long sip of her tea, and Byleth looked at him, as though she was seeing through all his schemes, through all the falsehoods he had ever told. "I'm a mercenary. I'm used to it." The matter-of-fact resignation in her voice dropped weights on Claude's heart. "But at least _you_ apologized."

With a sigh, Claude ran a hand through his hair. "Does the offer of the tea still stand?" Byleth nodded, and then held out her own cup to be refilled. Claude rose and prepared the water, dropping the Almyran pine into both cups. "Here," he said. "This is my promise. If you want, after the war's finished, I can take you to meet my parents. I'll probably be too busy to go much farther than that, but…"

"Thank you, Claude," she answered, breathing in the smell of the tea. "And thank you for coming tonight."

"Anytime," he said, shooting a wink her way.

And, wonders of wonders, Byleth actually smiled.


End file.
